Her Inspiration
by eSJa
Summary: A continuation from "His Inspiration" By Bil. Hermione's PoV, AU, sometime during OotP. A simple essay in Transfiguration leads the normally level-headed Hermione to listen to something other than her mind.


A/N:

This is my first HP fanfic, I have always enjoyed the books and movies but never really felt compelled to write anything in the universe. That is until I read a one shot titled His Inspiration by Bil. It is a wonderful story and so vivid that after I read it I just HAD to put something on paper. Anyhow, I received permission from Bil to expand on his story. So here it is, once again thank you to Bil for writing the source work (go read it!) and hopefully you all enjoy this as much as I did his.

*Harry Potter and all related characters are owned by JK Rowling and the only thing I own is the order of words and any errors.*

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As the rest of the class bemoaned their assignment and Dean drew the discerning eye of Professor McGonagall, Hermione mentally flagged the essay as easy; an hour at most was her estimate. "Really, I don't know what this has to do with transfiguration but it will give me more time to get ahead in Potions and Charms_"_. She thought idly pulling out her quill and a piece of parchment from her bag.

While Ron squirmed on one side of her, she glanced over to see Harry staring off into space. She had to fight a smile, she knew that look well; he was confused about what the professor wanted and was trying to suss it out. He would get it eventually but this time there was no book she could have him read if he asked for help. Leaving him to his rumination she focused on the parchment in front of her.

She knew exactly who inspired her, it was simple logic, though part of it went beyond that into a realm she had no experience in and therefore confused and unnerved her.

"Should I be honest?" She thought weighing how well she could fool the professor is she decided not to.

"I could probably say that Professor McGonagall inspired me, but she might see through that…" Hermione was conflicted, if she was going to be honest, surprisingly the mark she got was the least of her concerns. "Oh hell, I might as well be truthful, maybe if I actually put it down on paper I can get over it; because there is certainly no way it will ever be reciprocated".She told herself firmly. "Though I am not going to write it here…"

The bell sounded to end class as she gathered her supplies and stuffed them back into her bag, flanked by a grumbling Ron and quiet Harry they joined the throng of students making their way through the crowded halls. Harry bumped into her gently as the swarm nudged him, looking over he smiled apologetically raising his eyebrow in question as she stumbled slightly. Returning a small grin to let him know she was ok, Hermione tried to focus on their next class as a handful of errant butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach, working past all the defenses she had diligently built up. "Tonight, when everyone is busy with their homework…then no one will bother me."

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While the rest of the common room buzzed quietly with conversation and discussions of homework, Hermione had managed to commandeer a table in the corner all to herself which was not odd except for the fact that Ron and Harry weren't at it with her. She had purposely come in later after dinner, hoping that by grabbing her own table after Harry had snagged their usual spot he and Ron would think she just wanted a little more space to work tonight. Spreading out extra parchment and books around her to give the illusion of intent study she focused on the blank parchment.

"Why is this so much harder than I thought it would be? It's just words on paper; it doesn't really mean anything, just facts." She sighed deeply, quill poised.

_The person who inspires me is Harry Potter. _She began hesitantly, the butterflies again assaulting her stomach at just the sight of the words. _Not The Boy who Lived, but my friend Harry. The one who after everything he has been through is still the most kind, caring, unselfish, giving and noble person I know; who saved a know-it-all, big mouthed girl he barely knew from a troll when he should have been safe in the dorms. _

_He could easily be arrogant and take his fame for granted, using it for less than magnanimous deeds, flaunt himself in front of the media and only associate with the more affluent wizarding families. But he doesn't, he shies away from the spotlight and only wants to be normal, to have friends and a quiet life with those he can trust. Not to say he retreats from responsibility, never that. If anything he takes too much responsibility for events that are out of his hands._

Hermione looked up at the boy she was writing about, just in time to see a brilliant light fill his eyes and his quill start to scratch quickly at his paper. She smiled, "There you go Harry," she thought proudly.

Looking back down she reread what she wrote pinching her bottom lip with her teeth; embarrassed but feeling freer than she had in a long while with the truth slowly coming out, she for once let her guard down and just wrote.

_That is another thing that inspires me about him, he may not trust easily, but he still does. He should be cold and shut off after everything he has seen, but he's not. It's quiet and you can miss it, but if you are lucky enough to earn his trust he will go to the end of the earth for you. _

_He inspires me to know more, which is saying a lot for me. I have always been voracious for knowledge, but before Harry it was just to the sake of knowledge…and because it was the only thing that didn't judge me. Now I want to know more, have to know more so that I can support him; be there when he needs me the most because he has always been there for me. I have to be better than I am so that I don't fail him because to fail him would be the worst thing I could do. So many people have failed him, betrayed him that I would rather…well I would rather die than be on that list. _

_He doesn't believe in himself as much as he should because of his aunt and uncle; he needs a little prodding sometimes but he is capable of so much and in those moments when he does believe it, _anything_ is possible. _

_I study harder, cheer louder and step willingly into any dangerous situation because I know that he will be by my side. He inspires me because with the whole world stacked against him, though rarely he still smiles, still laughs and still believes that someday there will be an end to the fear we all live with. He is willing to sacrifice himself to give us that and if I am smart enough, quick enough, clever enough then maybe he won't have to._

_The unruly hair, the small smiles, and the dogged persistent to do what is right, no matter who it may anger or the trouble it might bring. That is why he inspires me, because he is Harry and I love him._

Not realizing she had been holding her breath Hermione let it with an explosive sigh. She couldn't believe what she wrote; it might as well be a love letter. "I can't turn this in, I have to redo it!" She thought desperately, reaching into her pocket she grabbed her wand and brought it to bear over the parchment as if it was going to curse her at any moment. The spell to erase it poised on her lips, part of the essay caught her eye; _no matter who it may anger or the trouble it might bring._

Hermione let her wand dip, looking over at Harry furiously writing away, his cheeks flush with intensity. She felt a smile tug at her mouth as the butterflies in her stomach rioted joyously. She put her wand away, leaving the essay just as it was. "Ok," she thought. "So I am inspired."

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A couple of days later as Professor McGonagall asked for the essays she almost kicked herself for not making sure Harry had done it when a look of surprised horror crossed his face. But he recovered quickly and dug into his bag handing a slightly rumpled paper to the professor.

Hermione smiled happily at Harry and fought back a blush when he returned her grin.

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The day that Professor McGonagall handed back their essays Hermione was barely keeping herself together. Would the professor say anything to her? Would she say anything to Harry?

She strolled along the isle, handing back the papers with a few words of encouragement or criticism to each student. Stopping at their desk, it seemed to Hermione that the professor was fighting back a smile, "Well done, Mr Potter," she said. "You were one of only two people in the entire year to work out precisely what it was I was asking for. Although I have to admit, yours was the most... original essay I have ever had to privilege to read."

Hermione looked over at Harry questioningly as he took the parchment from their teacher and mumbled something in reply.

Ron, as usual prodded his friend immediately, "What'd you write about?"

"I wrote... I wrote about Hermione," Harry admitted in a whisper, avoiding her look of surprise.

"_Hermione_?" Ron repeated in disbelief.

Hermione could barely believe what she was hearing, it had to be some sort of cruel joke, someone had _confunded_ her.

"Shh!"

"But why would you—" Ron started, but quickly shut his mouth when both Hermione and Harry glared at him.

Turing to look at Harry, shock tinting her voice she asked him, "You really wrote about me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he answered defensively.

A strong urge to hug him filled her, as well as unfamiliar, but not unpleasant warmth. She rather wished they weren't in class so she could.

Harry cursed, drawing her from her revive, "Harry!"

She watched him turn his body as he unrolled the scroll, and after a few moments saw a flush creep up his neck. "What did he write?" She wondered," And about me?"

The professor came back to them, drawing her attention away from Harry. "Good effort Mr. Weasley" she told him as she handed the hastily written paper back.

Hermione knew hers was still coming and dreaded what the Professor was going to say. She watched her search through the new pile of scrolls. "Well done, Miss Granger. You and Mr. Potter here were the two who gave me what I asked for."

Taking the scroll from the professor her usually quick mind was stunned, "Harry and I?"

Once again Ron didn't miss a beat, "Who'd _you_ write about?" He demanded.

Hermione blushed furiously. Her blood feeling as if on fire as it coursed through her. "It doesn't matter." She told him, burying the essay quickly in her bag.

"Well, how'd you guys figure out what to write? And why didn't you tell me!" Ron whined plaintively.

"I didn't know it was what she wanted," Harry protested. "And you'd have thought I was being stupid anyway."

"Can I read it, then?" Ron asked, reaching for the essay in Harry's hand.

"No!"

His voice came out in a panicked shout that made Professor McGonagall turn around, eyebrow raised. "Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?"

Hermione watched the flush creep up his neck and fill his face as he told the professor no there was not a problem. She reached out reflexively and patted his arm in sympathy, which seemed to make him blush harder; in turn bringing color to her own cheeks again.

The professor instructed them to open their books to page 342 and began the days lesson, Hermione focused as much attention as she could on the professor but was distracted with every movement as it seemed to cause her to bump into Harry. The few times she leaned over to ask him a question, trying to be casual and normal he would flinch away before quickly answering her.

Not only was just sitting next to him driving her logical mind haywire but it seemed like the professor kept glancing over at her with a knowing smile hidden just beneath her usual glower. She wondered how hard it would be to become an animagus and hide for the rest of her life.

After struggling through the rest of the hour the bell rang, sounds of packing bags and idle chatter filled the rooms as people made their way to the door when Professor McGonagall's voice called out, "Mr. Potter a word please?"

Putting on a brave face Hermione told a gloomy Harry, "We'll meet you in Charms."

While he went to talk to the professor her mind and stomach where in chaos. "Why just Harry and not me?"

Running on auto-pilot she followed Ron into the hall clutching her books to her chest as if it were armor, the seething mass of bodies and sounds a blur. Her mind was a jumble of excuses and explanations; she had no idea what she would say to Harry if he asked what she wrote. Would it be better to not tell him and keep him as her best friend or risk it all and hope against hope that he felt the same way? None of it made any sense.

They were almost to the classroom when she felt a familiar presence slide in next to her, glancing over there was Harry, hair mussed cheeks full of color and a rare lopsided grin on his face. He smiled and her heart stopped, she knew he was about to ask her a question and for once Hermione Granger didn't have an answer.


End file.
